


intimité

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The first time things get intimate between you and Stan, he's nervous. He doesn't say so, but you can tell.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 123





	intimité

**Author's Note:**

> Gender-neutral reader.

The first time things get _intimate_ between you and Stan, he's nervous. He doesn't say so, but you can tell. You know what it's like to kiss him, to explore his body with curious hands, but only when he's dressed. He's perfectly self-assured then, his own big, warm hands wandering all over your body and seeking out all the little places your skin is exposed, playing with the waistband of your jeans or untucking your shirt to sneak inside. But when the clothes he seems so eager to take off actually _come_ off, his hands stall on your hips, refusing to go any higher or lower. Even more curiously, he makes no attempt to undress himself, through you can feel him hard against your thigh, situated in his lap as you are.

The top two buttons of his shirt are perpetually undone, though, and the rest strain to hold in his well-built chest. You're dying to undo them all, so you play with the hair on his chest where it's already exposed, with his heavy, warm gold chain. Yet when your hands sneak down to pop open the rest, his own hand leaves your body to wrap tentatively around your own slim wrist, easily wrapping around it with room to spare.

You pull away from him, taking a second to admire his mouth, pink from your kisses. Then you catch sight of his expression, and any satisfaction quickly morphs into worry.

Stan rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. "Are ya' sure ya' wanna do this, doll?" he asks, avoiding your gaze. He's playing with the hem of your shirt again, rubbing the fabric between two thick, calloused fingers. "With me?"

You laugh softly. " _Want_ to, Stan? I'm practically dying for it over here." You slide a reverent hand up the musculature of his arms, gratuitously squeezing his thick biceps. "Why? If you aren't ready for this kind of thing, we don't have to."

"No way! I ain't worried about _me_ , toots, I'm worried 'bout _you._ "

"Me?" You frown. 

He rubs his neck again, something you quickly recognize as a nervous habit. At this rate, he's going to rub straight through his skin.

Stan sighs, and you pull him forward to rest his head on your chest. It's easier for him if he doesn't have to look you in the eyes, and you don't mind making things more comfortable for him where you can. "It's just…" he mumbles, and you can feel him shift to hide his face in the crook of your neck, muffling the words even more. "I don't look like I used to, sugar. I'm old and gettin' fat kinda comes with the territory. And you're less'n half my age and hot as hell and I don't wanna ruin what we got. I mean, I'd miss neckin' ya', that's all." 

You tilt your head down to press a kiss to his thick gray hair, and then pull away so you can pepper kisses over his face and jaw and neck until he's smiling.

"Stan," you say seriously, looking into his eyes. "I am so attracted to you. Whatever body you come in, whatever you've got, whatever you're offering, I am so into. It's you. I just want you. Okay?"

You can see the relief in his face, but still he asks "Are ya' sure, doll?" and your only option to make him really believe you then is to grind down on him where he's still semi-erect, eliciting a choked-off groan from deep in his chest, gravelly and low.

You lick a hot, filthy stripe up his neck, hands opening his shirt and hungrily exploring his broad chest. "I'm sure," you whisper, lips brushing his ear. That seems to be enough for him, and he groans, flipping you over into the mattress.

You both undress at record speeds, clothes pulled off by eager hands and left where they fell. His mouth is hot on yours and he tastes like peach soda; you busy yourself with licking the taste from his mouth. Both of you are so far gone, grinding against each other like teenagers, hands touching whatever skin is available. Once the clothes are gone, though, you can tell his anxiousness is returning, and his hand goes up to rub at his neck. Or, it would've, if you didn't grab his wrist, thick enough that your fingers are unable to wrap entirely around. Still, it's enough to stop him.

"Stan," you gasp, desperate. "Don't. I'm fucking crazy for you, okay? And if you don't fuck me right _now_ I'm gonna show you how fucking _crazy_ I can _get._ "

He grins, fears mollified (for the moment, at least). "Yeah, yeah," he replies, "I get it," and lines himself up, slowly pushing into you.

His sex is just as thick as the rest of him, and you throw your head back, hands tangling in the sheets. Unconsciously, you wrap your legs around him, urging him on. "C'mon, daddy, put your back into it," you tease, when you've adjusted to his easy pace. 

" _Put your back into it_ ," he grumbles, echoing you. "I don't know why I put up with you." 

You pinch his thigh in retribution. "Because you _love_ me, Stan Pines, and don't you deny it."

He grins, and doesn't argue.

He quickens his pace after that and it doesn't take long then, his hips slapping against yours with a nearly bruising force, his big hands finding where you're most sensitive and coaxing pleasure out of you so cleverly until you're not sure if you want to shy away from the sheer intensity of it or let your legs fall open to it. You're making the most lewd noises, and he's not so quiet either, though you feel it more as a vibration deep in his barrel chest than a sound. Just a few seconds more and you're tipping over that edge, your inner walls spasming around him, coaxing from him his own climax. He drives into you one, two, three more times, before bottoming out, hips grinding in little circles as he spills into you. 

"Fuck," he hisses, and kisses your open mouth. You can feel his cock pulse and twitch inside of you.

It's another minute or so before he slides out of you, soft, a little trail of his spend following. You hum happily, wrapping yourself around him like a limpet. He laughs. "Good?" he asks.

"Fishing for compliments already, huh? 'Good' is the understatement of the century, right behind when you asked me if I ' _wanted_ you'." You can feel his chest puff up, and you huff a quiet laugh, smacking his arm teasingly. "Yeah, it was good. Don't let it get to your head."

He smacks you back lightly, grinning, and then tightens his hold around you. "Way too late, toots," he replies.

Oddly enough, you don't really mind.


End file.
